


Testing Ground

by blue_spruce



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_spruce/pseuds/blue_spruce
Summary: “Dude,” Sam says, smoothly transitioning from the plank he’d been holding into a forward lunge, “I know you know how to text. It’s not hard. Just say, like, ‘Meet me in the training room at 7 tonight,’ and I’ll be there.” Sam makes a face at him before turning his gaze back to the floor. Bucky doesn’t say anything. He stands still and watches the muscles in Sam’s arms tense and hold. Sam’s gray t-shirt has a triangle of sweat spreading down the back, the fabric sticking to his skin.





	Testing Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



Bucky takes care to make noise as he crosses the training room, almost empty at the end of the day: he scuffs his feet against the padded floor and coughs quietly, but Sam still gives him The Look when Bucky reaches him. The look that says quite clearly, unencumbered by any words, _I am not impressed with you._  

“Dude,” Sam says, smoothly transitioning from the plank he’d been holding into a forward lunge, “I _know_ you know how to text. It’s not hard. Just say, like, ‘Meet me in the training room at 7 tonight,’ and I’ll be there.” Sam makes a face at him before turning his gaze back to the floor. Bucky doesn’t say anything. He stands still and watches the muscles in Sam’s arms tense and hold. Sam’s gray t-shirt has a triangle of sweat spreading down the back, the fabric sticking to his skin.

Silence spreads between them after that. Sam keeps going, slow stretches lengthening into a series of yoga poses, one gliding into the next. The part of Bucky that never stops cataloguing possible threats notes the control in Sam’s body; the easy, athletic grace animating his every move.

“Well,” Sam says finally as he pushes up to his feet. He grabs a towel off the floor and wipes at his face. “Should I assume you’re here for an ass-kicking, or what?” Bucky grins at that, a sharp thing with teeth. Sam’s mouth quirks up in response, and he shakes his head. “One of these days,” he says, a little mocking, as he swings his arms and rolls his shoulders back, “one of these days you’re gonna come in here and say ‘Hey Sam! Wanna train with me?’ and I’ll probably fall over in shock.”

Bucky ignores him and pulls his hair back, all quick economical motions. He settles into a defensive posture, arms loose, hands ready at his sides. Sam’s eyes catch his, then slide away. Bucky feels Sam cataloguing his stance and his body quickens in anticipation, ready for the first strike.

 

It always surprises him, how fast Sam is capable of being. How strong he is. He knows well enough not to be surprised by Steve, and then there’s Natasha, of course, whose skill is a familiar form of pain, but somehow these sparring matches with Sam never fail to catch him off guard. Sam is circling him now, and Bucky mirrors his movement, waiting, waiting – and then Sam is darting into his space, fists swinging. Bucky ducks away, lashing out with his own fist. He connects with something hard. Sam curses, spinning away, and Bucky’s caught suddenly by a memory from soon after he came in, after he remembered himself.

Bucky had been watching Sam and Steve sparring in the gym near the top of Avengers Tower, grappling with each other against a sunwashed New York City skyline. Sam had gotten Steve in a chokehold, his legs wrapped around Steve’s waist, and Steve got out of it but it took some effort. They’d broken apart, both breathing hard, and Bucky had said into the momentary lull, _You’re good at that._ He’d said it to Sam, although he could have meant either one of them.

Sam had laughed, short and sharp. He didn’t say anything in response, didn’t look away from Steve. Steve didn’t say anything either, not then; it was later, after Sam had disappeared towards the showers, that Steve had sat down heavily on the floor next to Bucky and said _You ever wish we weren’t so good at this?_

The question confused him. _No,_ he said, and he hadn’t understood why Steve had sighed.

Sam rushes him again, and he lands a solid hit to Bucky’s torso that drives the air out of his lungs. Bucky sweeps a leg at Sam’s shin and succeeds in tripping him up, enough that Sam goes down hard on his hands and has to scramble to avoid worse.

 

The rounds of grappling go on and on. Bucky has the advantage, here without the wings, but the training rule – using the metal arm for defense only – has them closely matched. He’s wearing Sam down slowly. Sam almost gets him pinned once but Bucky throws him off, and Sam is on the defensive when he gets back up off the floor.

“Give up yet?” Bucky asks. He curls the fingers of his metal hand one by one, testing their alignment.

“He speaks!” Sam swipes a hand across his face, trying to get the sweat out of his eyes. “No,” he adds when Bucky leaves a pointed silence.

It feels like an inevitability when Bucky pins Sam’s shoulders against the floor. There’s a sharp screaming rush of satisfaction singing in Bucky’s veins as he holds Sam down, riding out Sam’s struggles. “Mother _fucker_ ,” Sam gets out between heaving breaths when he finally gives up, body going limp under Bucky’s thighs. His eyelids shut, head driving back against the heavy mat. Bucky grins, baring his teeth, everything a rush of pure sensation: the tangy sweat-smell, the heat of Sam’s skin against him, Bucky’s heartbeat thundering in his ears.

“You know,” Sam says, “Someday I’m gonna taser your arm so hard you won’t know what hit you.” His eyes are still closed. Bucky watches the pulse at the base of Sam's throat, the damp shine of the the skin there.

“Mm.” Bucky sits there for a beat longer, then pats Sam’s ribs. “Good work tonight.” He stands up then, pausing for a moment with his feet on either side of Sam’s hips. “Goodnight.”

Sam opens his eyes. Bucky doesn’t know how he manages to give The Look so well from that position. It’s impressive.

“‘Night, asshole,” Sam says.

He’s still lying there when Bucky slips out through the door.


End file.
